A/N: All right, so here's chapter two! It follows straight on from chapter one, and the next one will be similarly close in timing, but after that the pace should pick up some.
Obviously I own nothing, including the chapter title Everybody Loves A Winner, which this time is taken from the famous song Maybe This Time from the musical Cabaret. The line continues with 'So nobody loved me,' which in some ways resonates with these two characters and in others not at all, hence why I cut the line for the title. But it's interesting to know it, in case you want to look for any symmetry!

"I think we're a little overdressed," Kitty whispered loudly to Blake, smiling politely at the only other patrons of the bar they had just entered – three elderly men sitting on stools along the bar, all of whom had turned to leer at her as soon as they had walked through the door. Blake moved a hand to the small of her back and steered her towards a table in the corner determinedly, not releasing his slightly possessive hold on her until he was sure the others had all turned away and she was sitting down.

"This place isn't known for its upscale clientele, but they have great scotch and you're always guaranteed a quiet table," he explained with a half-smile, taking her coat and placing it with his own on the empty chair beside him, opting to sit directly opposite her.

"You're a scotch man, then?" she asked with a smile.

"I don't drink a whole lot, tonight being the exception rather than the rule," he assured her. "It's just that my mother has that effect on me. But when I do drink, I enjoy a nice glass of wine or a good scotch."

"I always liked gin and tonic, myself," she mused.

"Well then can I get you a gin and tonic?"

"No," she shook her head. "My dad always drank scotch and I wondered what the fuss was all about. I'd like to try it."

"Are you sure?" Blake checked, his expression sceptical. "If you've never had it …"

"I'm a big girl, Blake," Kitty informed him with an amused smirk. "I can handle it."

"All right," he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender and grabbing his wallet. "I'll be right back." He crossed to the bar and ordered them two expensive glasses of scotch, handing over a note and returning to the table with their drinks in hand. He held hers out to her, and she accepted it slowly as he reclaimed his seat. He watched her for a few moments, smiling as she swirled the amber liquid in the glass apprehensively. "It's not going to bite," he told her gently, and she caught his eye with a rueful smile.

"Right," she agreed, sounding less than certain. "Well … happy birthday?" she offered, raising her glass to him in a toast. Blake smiled, clinking his own lightly against it.

"Thank you," he acknowledged, finding it a lot less forced than with most people he had encountered that evening. He took a drink of his whisky, allowing it to burn a pleasant path down his throat, and tried to watch Kitty tasting hers without it being obvious what he was doing. All attempt at subtlety was abandoned, however, when she choked slightly upon the first sip and set her glass down quickly, bringing her hand up to her mouth with a slightly startled expression. "Are you all right?" Blake asked, and she nodded quickly.

"Fine," she assured him, seeming slightly breathless. "I didn't expect the aftertaste."

"You get used to it," he promised, and she nodded, taking another sip and grimacing less profoundly this time. "Eventually," he added with a slight smile.

"It's smoother than I thought," she mused, eyeing the drink curiously.

"It's a very good scotch," he replied knowledgeably, and she raised her eyebrows.

"For someone who isn't a heavy drinker, you seem to know your scotch."

"Well if I'm only going to drink on occasion, I may as well know what I'm drinking when I do, don't you agree?" Blake pointed out, and she snorted.

"Nicely argued," she conceded. "I think it's a lot of crap, but nice try anyway."

"Er … thank you?" he tried, unsure how to respond, and she grinned broadly.

"Any time."

"You're really quite a strange woman," he told her with a slight frown.

"You're neither the first person to call me that, nor do I expect you'll be the last, Blake Collins," Kitty responded with an unconcerned shrug. "But you are one of the very few who can say it without my taking offence."

"Well then I'm honoured."

"As you should be."

"Hey, kids, you want some music?" the barman called, gesturing to the jukebox at the end of the bar. Blake glanced across the table at Kitty, who raised her eyebrows in what he perceived to be some kind of a challenge.

"Now this could be fun," she smirked, and he resisted the urge to groan aloud. Already he was able to tell when this woman was going to cause trouble. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm worried," he replied honestly, and she smirked.

"Excellent. Yes, we'd love some music," she told the bartender with a brilliant smile. "Put on something we can dance to." Blake choked slightly on his drink as she shot him a piercing glance. "Let's see if Director Collins can remember how to dance after spending his days shut up in an office."

"Director Collins remembers just fine," Blake retorted instantly, feigning insult.

"Good, then dance with me," Kitty proposed, getting to her feet and holding her hand out towards him, meeting his gaze expectantly.

"This isn't exactly that type of a place, Kitty," he pointed out stiffly. She leaned down, resting her hands on the table to speak quietly into his ear, and he felt her breath warm against his neck.

"Coward," she muttered, a smile in her tone as he bristled. He was on his feet within seconds, tugging her towards him in the middle of the bar and moving in time to the music. She grinned and looped her arms around his neck, her easy smile back in place, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation at how easily she had manipulated him.

"You're awfully pleased with yourself, aren't you?" he asked with a small smile of his own as his arms fell naturally to her hips. She cocked her head to one side as though thinking about it, biting on her lower lip, before allowing her grin to spread and nodding slowly.

"Extremely," she decided a moment later, giggling.

"How did your sister not realise you were going to be trouble at this party?" Blake demanded, half-laughing. He stopped quickly when he felt Kitty tense in his arms, and pulled her fractionally closer, so that she didn't have to look him in the eye. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling foolish, and felt her shake her head against his shoulder.

"No reason to be," she assured him with a slight edge to her tone. "Rosie just …she's always been the perfect one, and I've always been the one everyone saw as nothing but trouble. I'm impressed at how quickly you picked up on it."

"I was making a joke," Blake corrected quietly. "And apparently one in poor taste. I didn't mean it to upset you."

"I know."

"And for what it's worth … I can relate," he added more slowly, unsure how much he wanted her to know but somehow feeling he could open up a little to her. "Being the first born has its disadvantages, as you saw tonight. You must have heard the jokes. 'King Collins.' 'Perfect son.' My parents were so busy priming me to take over their precious school one day that I'm not sure they ever saw beyond that to what I might have wanted for myself."

"You can't tell them?" Kitty asked, glancing up at him in surprise.

"Oh, I could tell them a hundred times and they still wouldn't know," he sighed, unconsciously taking one of her hands in his and shifting them into a more classic dance step. "They can't fathom that I might want something different to what they've always planned for me – something more. To them, becoming Director of MSA is the end of the road: it's where I should rest on my laurels. I should ride in on my white horse and save the school and become its champion. I don't think I've quite met their expectations."

"You've surpassed everyone else's," Kitty pointed out. "All anybody could talk about tonight was how you've turned that place around; how it's going to be the next Julliard. You should be proud of that."

"I am," he assured her. "To a point. It just feels very mechanical, and … this isn't very 'masculine,' but it doesn't feel right somehow. Dance shouldn't be mechanical. It should be what sets you free, not a way to trap you in your past."

"I'm sorry for what I said about dancing not being masculine," she told him, wincing slightly as she recalled her words. "For what it's worth this is very nice. But my experience of ballet is extremely limited. I was the kid who made fun of you in the street for wearing tights."

"I really hated you," Blake mused, cracking a smile as she laughed.

"You were part of a rather large club," she promised. "For the record I'd like to think I know better now. Or at least, that I could be taught better, if I had the right teacher. Know anybody?" His breath caught in his throat as she looked up at him, her gaze intense, and he swallowed nervously.

"I could probably recommend someone," he managed, his throat dry. The song came to an end and she stepped out of his arms with a little noticeable hesitation, clearing her throat.

"I'm just going to …" She trailed off, gesturing towards the ladies' room, and Blake nodded stiffly. She grabbed her purse as she passed their table, and Blake sat back down, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. He couldn't remember the last time he had had such an easy time talking to a woman, or the last time one had seemed … interested, in him, beyond the superficial aspect of wanting to date the Blake Collins. He hoped he wasn't reading too much into her actions, although with his track record it was certainly possible, he thought with a sigh.

"Another, son?" the barman asked, coming by and collecting his empty glass. Blake glanced at Kitty's almost full glass and rolled his eyes at her apparent stubbornness.

"A glass of chardonnay, please," he requested instead. The barman nodded with a knowing smile as Blake lifted the second scotch glass and took a sip from it, returning just as Kitty did and placing the wine glass in front of her. She raised her eyebrows and shot Blake a pointed look.

"You're drinking my whisky, Blake Collins," she stated unnecessarily.

"Why so I am, Kitty Patterson," he returned just as dryly.

"May I enquire as to why?"

"Because you don't like it," he answered confidently, and she arched a brow.

"You seem awfully sure of yourself."

"Haven't you heard? We Collins' are an arrogant breed," he quipped, and she fought to keep her smile under control.

"I should be furious," she noted, lifting her wine glass and hesitating as though reluctant to drink it and give in. "I should really walk out of here in protest."

"That doesn't really sound likely," Blake pointed out, and her mouth twitched slightly.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," she told him firmly, and he shrugged.

"I can order you another scotch if you'd like," he offered, calling her bluff. She remained silent for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh and taking a drink of her wine. Blake hid his smile behind the rim of the scotch glass under the pretence of inhaling its aroma, but her knowing glance told him he had been unsuccessful.

"Thank you," she relented with a smile of her own.

"My pleasure."

"Of course with it being your birthday, I really should be buying you a drink," Kitty pointed out suddenly, looking apologetic.

"Oh please," he snorted. "That's hardly necessary." At her questioning look, he elaborated. "I'm not the biggest fan of birthdays," he confessed. "Parties like tonight are just one of the many reasons why. I certainly don't expect favours because it's my birthday, and as a gentleman I'd be quite insulted if you wouldn't allow me to buy you a glass of wine."

"Well when you put it that way, how can a girl refuse?" Kitty joked with a grin, and Blake returned it as best he could. All too easily, was how, he thought grimly. She drew her finger slowly along the rim of her glass, creating an almost melodic sound that Blake felt himself getting lost in. He happened to glance up a few moments later and caught her watching him with a strange expression on her face.

"What is it?" he asked curiously, and she smiled strangely.

"You're very handsome," she announced, and Blake blinked.

"Er …"

"Sorry," Kitty laughed suddenly, shaking her head and grinning. "Rosie told me you were, but she and I normally have completely different taste in men. I was just thinking it's strange that I find you handsome when she does too. Then again I suppose most women agree on you."

"Maybe I ought to confiscate that wine," Blake mused aloud, and Kitty laughed again.

"I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"A little," he admitted with a smile. "And I've never been very good at accepting compliments, whatever my brother tells you, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm not quite sure how to respond."

"Wow. Blake Collins is shy," Kitty deduced with a genuine smile. "Who would have thought?"

"Just about anyone who knows me even a little," Blake assured her. "The people who tell you I'm arrogant and confident and self-righteous … well, perhaps they're right, on some level. But knowing I can dance and having any sort of confidence in myself in other aspects of my life are two very different things."

"That much I do know," she confessed. "It's like in my job. I don't do nearly as much fieldwork as most anthropologists; my specialty is linguistic anthropology and so I can do a lot more on paper; but when I am out in the field, I can make myself seem confident and personable and … knowledgeable. Because in my field, I am. But take me out of my comfort zone and – well, you've seen my impressive foot in mouth skills!"

"I do admit, I've never met anyone quite so capable of botching a first impression," Blake snorted then. "If I had a less developed sense of humour …"

"I'd have gotten bored of you long before now and this would all be irrelevant," Kitty countered with a smirk of her own, and Blake laughed appreciatively. She picked up her wine glass and drained it, just as he finished his – well, her – scotch.

"Would you like another?" he offered, reaching for his wallet, but she shook her head.

"Thank you, but no," she declined politely, and he nodded, hoping his disappointment didn't show on his face. He retrieved a bill from his wallet and sat it on the table to cover the cost of the wine, standing up and holding her coat out for her. He helped her into the sleeves before slipping his own over his shoulders, unsure how to break the suddenly awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"Would you like to go back to the party?" he suggested somewhat lamely, opening the door into the street and holding it so that Kitty could precede him out. She shook her head, shoving her hands deep into her pockets against the cold.

"No offence, Blake Collins, but your party was not my scene," she informed him as though this were new information, a slight smile playing on her lips. He nodded then, glancing up and down the street in search of a cab.

"Well, let me put you in a cab …"

"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Everything all right?" he queried, and she turned on the sidewalk to face him, looking exasperated, if a little amused.

"Just peachy," she agreed easily. "I was just wondering if you planned on kissing me any time soon or if I should just get on with it myself?" Blake could feel his mouth opening and closing like a fish's, but couldn't seem to rein in his surprise. Kitty smiled broadly then, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Well evidently if I leave it to you we'll be here 'til sunrise," she sighed dramatically. Blake had just managed to open his mouth to form a response when he felt her lips on his, warm and soft and gentle. One of his hands moved seemingly of its own accord to cup her cheek, and she whimpered softly into his mouth as he returned her kiss, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence. Slowly; reluctantly; he ended their kiss, looking down at her in surprise. She let out a breathy laugh, meeting his gaze with darkened eyes. "Hmm. Very nice," she murmured, fingering his lapels.

"That was going to be my line," Blake found himself responding, internally deciding he would definitely be blaming the alcohol for that one. Kitty chewed on her lower lip, looking up at him through long eyelashes expectantly.

"So … goodnight, I suppose?" she asked a moment later, looking unsure. Blake couldn't say what came over him, but instead of responding verbally, he lowered his lips onto hers again, kissing her softly but firmly, enjoying the way she looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer against him. This time only the need to breathe tore them apart, and he bent his head to hers, resting their foreheads together and smiling into her twinkling eyes.

"Goodnight, I suppose," he echoed a little breathlessly. Kitty took a small step backwards, reaching out and hailing a cab further along the street. It slowed to a stop alongside them, and she hesitated with her hand on the door.

"Look, I don't normally do this …" she began, before stopping again. Encouraged by her attempt, Blake stepped closer to her again, rubbing his thumb along her jaw.

"Would you like to come back to my apartment?" he asked bravely, internally preparing himself for her rejection. Instead she pressed a kiss to his jaw, nodding against his shoulder, and he swore he could feel her smile.

"I'd like that a lot," she mumbled. Blake reached around her and opened the cab door, letting her slide in before him and then following her. He gave his address to the driver, closing the door after him, and shot her a sideways glance. She was smiling at him shyly, her eyes still dark, and he reached over impulsively and took her hand, simply holding it in his own. She brought their entwined hands up to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, ducking her head from his gaze. "So you really don't like birthdays?" she asked then, sounding surprised. Blake smirked and gave her hand a squeeze, enjoying the slight shiver that ran through her.

"Jury's still out."